


Patches

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Comedy, fake ass gxng gxng fic what's new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x biker!tetsurou kuroo]Did you just inadvertently join the most notorious bike gang in the entire country and get involved with one of the bloodiest turf wars Tokyo has ever seen? The answer is actually: yes, you definitely did, and now you’re definitely screwed.





	1. Chapter 1: You Royally Fuck Up

_a king of shreds and patches; save me and hover o'er me with your wings._

* * *

 

You’d had weird people show up to your door before. Homeless beggars that claimed they were sent by the alien race of “Shar’Shakr”; looney-bin junkies who found the love of their lives in rusty shopping carts with only three wheels; dogs with dead birds clamped in their jaws, etcetera. You had really thought that you’d seen it all, but that was before a half-dead guy knocked politely.

Well, he didn’t really knock politely. He kind of fainted impolitely, his skull slamming into the door as he fell. In either case, he knocked, and you answered.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, dropping to your knees. The rain was torrential and the wind carried the muddy water down the pavement, but it did nothing to wash away the pools of blood collecting underneath the nameless man’s body and onto your neatly painted steps. He opened an eye weakly and you met his gaze, his golden irises seeming so beautiful despite the grotesque state of his body. Wet, jet black hair stuck to his pale forehead like streaky lines of ink on paper.

“You my angel?” he asked in a raspy voice, a thin smile spreading on his lips. You had no idea what to say in response.

“I’m calling 911,” you told him hastily, about to get up before his arm shot out with surprising speed and strength for somebody who was partly unconscious. He grit his teeth and looked up at you, both shifting amber eyes open, and both filled with that same burning passion that had chilled you just before.

“No. Don’t.”

“What? But… you’re hurt.” As if he needed anybody to tell him. You were just reminding him that _hey, you’re kind of dying, just in case you forgot._ He shook his head, the grip on your wrist still tight.

“No… cops. I’d rather die.”

“You need to get help,” you insisted, but he shook his head again. His inhales were getting increasingly shorter and your heart was pounding hard in your chest.

“I’d rather die if I see the cops. I’m sorry. Forget… I was here.” His hand slid from your wrist and landed on the floor, bracing himself as he tried to get up. Obviously, it didn’t work out well. He groaned sharply and you caught him to your chest as his arm gave, about to crash him back into the ground. He fell against you heavily, your arms trembling with the strain of holding a grown man up.

“Okay. No cops. But you have to let me bandage your wound.”

You were chewing on your lip so hard that it tasted of blood. That, accompanied with the overwhelming smell of his, was making you dizzy. Only his eyes on yours grounded you.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he advised, but his voice was so weak that it came out in a hushed whisper.

“I do a lot of things other people wouldn’t,” you muttered. His eyes started to flutter and you dragged him inside, closing your door, which had a bloody handprint on it as if it were marking you for Hell.

That was Number 1 on your list of royal fuck ups, but it was also Number 1 of your _best_ royal fuck ups.


	2. Chapter 2: You Hate Martha Stewart

The nameless man remained unconscious for several days. You went to work, as usual, trying to live your everyday life while fretting about it so much that your co-workers and students noticed and asked if you were okay. But you’d lie and tell them that you were fine, because his words wouldn’t leave your head.

_“I’d rather die.”_

What else could it be? He had to be a criminal. And you were harbouring him. You were no stranger to what happened to people charged with obstruction of justice. You checked the news religiously, but there were no APBs and no wanted signs, surprising you. It was like nobody ever noticed that the man on your couch could have been dead. That made you… a bit sad. It was something everybody had thought about at least once—what happens after you go, and the world keeps spinning without you? Still, he wasn’t dead, and it looked like you were going to be the only one around to worry for him. 

His wound had been fresh, making it fairly easy to clean out. You had a first aid kit from some free demo at school a couple years back and did the best you could, feeling a bit awkward for having to cut his shirt and look at the man’s bare chest without even knowing his name. It was a nasty wound, though, the utter atrocity of it drowning out any preconceptions of societal strangeness. Ragged flaps of skin hung on like banshee hands and even you could tell that it was from some sort of jagged blade. Either way, it was a miracle that the man hadn’t died. He slept fitfully, a high fever making him sweat through the blankets you layered on him. You made some sort of concoction of antibiotics and powdered nutrient supplements, spooning them into his mouth and massaging his throat until he swallowed. You checked Web M.D and tried not to make your Google searches too suspicious like ‘treating knife wounds of strangers’ or ‘HELP WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?!’. It became a routine for you when you came home; you checked on the man, making sure he hadn’t died on your couch to haunt your house for the rest of eternity, and then you took care of him. 

On the third day, he was awake when you got home. He waved to you cheerily, holding up a remote with the hand on his good side.

“You’ve got shit cable,” he commented as you gaped at the sight. You caught yourself and swallowed, steeling yourself for the truth.

“Who are you?” you asked, the barrier of your curiosity finally shattering. “And why did you come to me of all people?”

You had long since washed off the bloody handprint on your door, but you knew that if any coppers got suspicious enough to come by, there’d be no way to explain yourself. The man had bled over everything you owned, too. Unfortunately, you didn’t think blaming it on shark week would get you a get-out-of-jail-free card. They might’ve thought that _you_ were the one to stab him, which brought shivers down your spine. In response to your worries, he merely shrugged.

“Lucky ding-dong ditch?” he offered cryptically. You wanted to scream at him for inconveniencing you with his almost-death, but instead sighed, all the energy evacuating your body with the huff as if it were your spirit. 

“I’m glad you seem to be okay,” you muttered tiredly, with a bit of spite. You went into your living room and sat on the couch, trying not to look at him as he still didn’t seem to be wearing a shirt. He raised the remote to change the channel and your eyes caught the motion—a couple words were tattooed onto his deltoid, easily visible in the black ink.

**NEKOMA**

Your eyes widened. You knew that name. And you knew it didn’t mean anything good.

The man withdrew a bowl of microwave popcorn from your coffee table and slid it to you. You stared down at it disbelievingly.

“Yeah, sorry. I got kind of hungry so I raided your pantry—”

“You’re… you’re from the Nekoma Biker Gang.” Your eyes snapped up to his, shimmering gold, as he looked back at you. You didn’t even feel like you could breathe, terrified of what he’d say next as his eyes narrowed. 

“Oh. So you know me? Sweet.” He popped another kernel of fake buttery popcorn into his mouth, chewing with a grin. You saw how sharp his canines were. “Name’s Kuroo.”

“I’m just a civilian; I’m not looking for trouble—”

“A civilian that lives in Nohebi turf.”

You winced at the name of the other gang. After all, Nekoma and Nohebi had been at war with each other for practically a decade. You’d lost a lot of friends to their feud. You’d lost people you’d never known, but you’d lost good people.

“You gonna kill me?” you asked flatly, turning your gaze to the TV, which was currently displaying a homey video of Martha Stewart baking chocolate chip cookies. Kuroo licked each of his fingers languidly, smacking his lips.

“Nope. Why would I kill the person who saved my life?”

You shot him a dirty glance. “It’s _all_ you bikers do. Kill for no good reason, loot for no good reason. You vandalize, you take kids off the street and turn them into—!” you stopped yourself when you realized that if he hadn’t wanted to kill you before, he might want to now. To your good fortune, Kuroo seemed amused by your evident bitterness, and laughed. He winced and touched a hand to his abdomen as he did. Concern ate away your fear and you pointed at him.

“Look, Mr. Kuroo—”

“Just Kuroo.”

“Kuroo… I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m just a teacher at an elementary school. I don’t want any part in your gang’s turf war.”

“You showed that you did when you saved my life inside of Nohebi lines.”

You winced. “I didn’t know you were Nekoma at the time, I just thought—I just wanted to help.” You were fully aware of how pathetic you sounded and knew it would never hold up in front of Nohebi’s boss if you ever had to explain yourself. 

“You’re a good soul,” Kuroo said slowly, as if just coming to realize it. “What’re you doing here in the centre of that snake’s market?” He said it with such venom that you felt colder just seeing the anger flash in his eyes. You averted your gaze and spoke to Martha through gritted teeth as she preheated the oven.

“I told you. I’m a teacher at the elementary here.”

“Hm. Surprised you haven’t booked ass. You must be tough.”

Kuroo suddenly withdrew a switchblade that made you shy away from him, sliding to the edge of your couch with panic. He picked his teeth with the end of the blade, looking back to the TV before glancing at you. His golden eyes sparkled.

“How about this? As thanks for saving my sorry ass, I’ll give you free protection for as long as you need it. Lifelong contract, no strings attached.” He flipped the knife, catching it by the blade, and began to balance it by the point on his finger.

“Protection?” you repeated incredulously. “From what?”

“Lotsa things. You do know what neighbourhood you live in, don’t you?”

You hesitated for a second, because he was right. However, you didn’t want to fuck yourself rawer than you already had, what with Nohebi’s patrols coming around the clock for checks randomly. It’d only spell out trouble for you with a capital T if they happened to find a Nekoma guy hanging out in your living room, watching Martha Stewart. 

_“Then what you want to do is keep the dough cold. If it starts to melt, that spells out nothing but trouble, with a capital T!”_

“That’s fine,” you said hastily. “I don’t want anything in return. Just peace and quiet.”

Kuroo frowned but then nodded, getting to his feet. You stumbled to your own.

“H-hey, you shouldn’t be walking around—”

“I’m fine. I’ve seen worse days. But hey, if something does happen and you need me, give me a call. I’m good to roll anytime.” He suddenly grabbed your wrist and had the blade in the other hand. For a split second you thought he was going to carve you, but then the knife disappeared, an old ballpoint pen appearing instead. He scrawled out a series of numbers onto your wrist and gave you a sly, crooked grin before kissing you on the top of the head. You stood, absolutely stunned as he backed away, the leather jacket you had taken off of him zipped up to cover his bare chest and poorly bandaged wound. 

“K-Kuroo! Wait! Where the hell do you think you’re going?” You raced to catch him at the door, shaking off your shock of being kissed as he jogged down your steps. He paused and looked back, the same lopsided grin on his angular face.

“Who knows? I go where the wind takes me.”

He whistled the opening tune to Martha Stewart’s show as he walked off. You watched as he went, disappearing as he rounded a corner. Even once he was out of sight, you were still staring down the road, the numbers on your wrist burning on your skin.


	3. Chapter 3: You Find That Karma's Not A Bitch—It's A HUGE Bitch

“Hey, [Name].”

You looked up from your papers and gave a strained smile to the man leaning in the doorway. He walked closer as you hid a resigned sigh behind a small cough.

“Terushima…”

“Aw, babe. Still so formal?” he asked with feigned offense, his hand coming down on the tests you were grading as he forced you to look up at him. He sat, propped up on your desk, the upward vantage point above you giving him a shadowed twisted look to his handsome features.

“We’re just colleagues,” you reminded, putting down your pen. It’d be a while before you could get Yuuji Terushima out of your hair, and you were already thinking of excuses to tell him off. 

“Colleagues that could be fucking right now,” he replied in an equally connotative tone, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. The silver ball of sterling silver sitting on his tongue like a pearl flashed at you. His teeth were sharp, like that of a snake’s fangs. You fought your instinct to recoil with disgust and instead smiled politely.

“Sorry. I’m not interested.”

“Even if you’re a dyke, you’re hot. And if you do have a girlfriend, you should invite her. It’d be fun, eh?” Terushima started playing with the ends of your hair and you clenched your hands into fists so that you wouldn’t slap him. You scooted your chair away instead, crossing your arms over yourself tightly.

“I’m just not interested, Terushima. So if you’ll excuse me…!”

Terushima was already in front of you before you could get out of your chair. His hands gripped the armrests, blocking you with his body, and you realized that he was pinning you down. Up close, you could smell the whiskey off of him like cologne, heavy and cloying. Your breath hitched in your throat as you wondered if you could slip out of this—but his hips ground harshly into yours, and you were stuck. 

“Honesty’s the best policy, girl,” he breathed, tobacco smoke etching dirtiness into each syllable. He chuckled, the laugh bringing a puff of weed aftertaste onto your unwilling lips. “You been teachin’ the kiddies to lie as good as you?”

“Stop,” you said as forcefully as you could manage. But you knew that authority didn’t affect any of the men here—if you could even call them men. Guys like Terushima could smell fear and he caught onto the reediness of your voice, his white teeth sparkling like a ravenous animal as he grinned widely.

“Got a cherry pie that you don’t want me to take a rail of? Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll taste real good, girlie… not like it’s gonna’ hurt or nothin’.” 

You closed your eyes tightly, your spine pressing painfully into the chair back as you tried to lean away. His lips were dry on your neck, reptilian, and then—

“This’ll hurt, bud.”

You had no time to brace yourself when your chair was knocked over, spilling both you and Terushima onto the ground. Your head collided with the corner of your desk, burning a white hot line blazing across your forehead. You clutched at it, trying to merge your double vision back into one as sounds of fighting filled your ears. Terushima yelled.

“Who the fuck’re you?!”

You blinked over and over to clear the fuzziness out of your eyes and managed to make out a dark figure. He had a knife in his hand, the silver having an almost divine sheen as it flipped up in the air, balancing on a point on the man’s finger. You’d seen that before.

“ _Kuroo_?!” you blurted out, the sickly feeling in your head not preventing a burst of recognition as he turned to look at you. He grinned, waving.

“Hey, [Name]. Doing good?”

“I’ll kill you!” Terushima roared, getting up from the ground. The warning was caught in your throat, but it seemed like Kuroo didn’t even need it, side-stepping Terushima’s tackle and delivering an elbow point to the base of Terushima’s neck. The shorter man crumpled to the ground and for a fearful moment, you thought he was dead, before a weak groan left his mouth.

Kuroo clapped his hands together as if dusting himself off of dirt and reached one out to you. You stared at it numbly, your eyes tracing his body until you met his eyes.

“How’d you get in here?” you mumbled, slurring quite a bit from banging your head against the desk. He reached down and took your wrist himself, wrenching you to your feet before supporting you with surprisingly gentle hands. He snorted.

“The door. Duh.”

“But… how’d you know I was in trouble?”

“I didn’t. I’m just a lucky person, it seems. Besides, I hate guys like that, so it’s no problem for me.” He was walking you outside your classroom. You had an incredible urge to close your eyes and sleep, but he suddenly shook you, jolting you out the stupor.

“Don’t go to sleep just yet, girl. There’s a reason I came for you.”

“What is it?” you asked sleepily, the severity behind his tone not quite sinking in properly through the haze of fogginess. He frowned slightly, your eyes catching on a white scar tracing his chin.

“Your house burned down.”


	4. Chapter 4: You Bake Brownies For Bloodthirsty Biker Bros

Maybe you were a bit glad that you’d gotten the shit knocked out of you in your little tumble at school, because it dulled your intelligence enough so that you didn’t even seem to mind almost flying off of Kuroo’s back end. Still, you minded a teensy weensy bit, and couldn’t help screaming the whole way.

“Would you please _slow down_?!” you shrieked as he jerked wildly, shooting past a honking car. He responded by merely accelerating, turning a hairpin right so sharply that you smelt burnt rubber. Your arms were locked around his chest and you squeezed yourself to his back so tightly that you just about merged into his body. He hadn’t even given you a helmet, and you feared that your brain was just going to squeeze itself out of your ears if he kept this up.

“I’m a biker!” he laughed casually, as if he weren’t speeding along at 120 on a 60 road. “There’s no such thing as slowing down.”

“ _I’m going to die!_ ” was your only response. It wasn’t even a conversation at this point; it was you wailing incoherently as Kuroo snickered at you. Your tears whipped off of your face before they could touch your cheeks anyways, so were you even really crying?

Yes. Yes you were.

He finally pulled to a screeching stop, and you had the courage to open your eyes again. His bike purred as he rolled it along slowly. Your heart, which had been left behind at the red light (that Kuroo had run illegally) at 52nd, dropped. There were masses of red fire trucks, just like the toys—only, these were real, and you could see why they were here. Lights flashed. People murmured.

Your beloved house was ash.

The day hadn’t turned to night yet, but seeing your home go down made everything seem dark. Kuroo unlatched your hands from around his waist, kicking down his stand and balancing his bike. He helped you off carefully, his sudden gentleness sharply different from how he rode. Your legs wobbled with a combination of leftover adrenaline and disbelief, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the sight of the giant flames eating up your precious bungalow. Your hands gripped Kuroo’s.

You didn’t have great neighbours. They were either oxy snorters or suspicious in their own mysterious way, so you weren’t surprised to see them absent from the street. They’d probably scattered as soon as the police sirens went off. Your actual house wasn’t the big deal here; it was a shit hut, flooding and infested and god knows what else. You were mourning everything that you’d done there. The only reason you lived in such a horrible neighbourhood was because nobody else did. The only people the poor kids here got to guide them were people like Terushima. You’d been determined to change that. Even as a naïve person to now, you had justified your own pain by seeing smiles on your kids’ faces.

But change is inevitable. 

Hot mist warmed your face as a panel of your roof caught fire, sparks roaring up into the sky as if a lion calling to its pride on the African veldt. Kuroo was silent by your side as you watched, both silent. The tiny house you had called home—everything you owned; everything you knew; everything you had accomplished and wanted to do—gone. You hadn’t even said goodbye to it.

You began to walk towards it, unable to think of what else to do before Kuroo grabbed your shoulder. His once soft touch was rough and he gripped you tightly, yanking you towards him. Your back hit his chest and his arms wrapped around you from behind, practically enveloping you. Paralyzed, you took a shallow breath, not daring to ask what was happening. He smelled of something distantly familiar, smoky, and masculine—but your heart was racing, and you had no time to analyze fragrances. 

“Don’t move,” he hissed. You swallowed past your shock and asked shakily, too afraid to even turn to look at him,

“Why?”

“I thought I saw…” Kuroo trailed off, his amber eyes narrowing. They darted around suspiciously. Over the clamour of firemen yelling and the sound of your house collapsing, you could hardly hear him, but could tell that something was amiss nonetheless.

“What?” you insisted. You mustered the courage to push out of his embrace and turned to him, crossing your arms angrily to distance yourself. Anger was all you felt. The heat from the fire fuelled you and somehow, you knew that this was his fault. “ _What_ , Kuroo?!”

“I thought I saw a little garden snake,” was his soft response. Your fury flared and practically blacked out with disbelief. How dare he. How _dare_ he. You wanted to hit him, if he wouldn’t have been able to easily dodge it and snap your neck between two fingers. You were about to storm off before an old policeman noticed you. He walked up cautiously, hand on a walkie-talkie. His bushy eyebrows knit together as his dark eyes scanned your curious company.

“You’re the owner of this house?” the gruff policeman asked slowly, turning his gaze back to you. You opened your mouth to say yes before Kuroo cut you off, to your great surprise.

“Nope. We’re just passing by. Wanted to see what the big fuss was! Let’s go, babe.”

“B-babe?!” you spluttered, your shoes catching on the pavement as he pulled you along roughly. You looked back pleadingly to the police officer, hoping he’d notice and tell Kuroo to stop, but the old man had already moved on. Helplessly, you watched your escape walk back to his vehicle. You glared up at Kuroo, who kept leading you back towards his bike. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I’m a criminal,” he huffed, a bit matter-of-factly. “Do you really think I want to be around ninety-nines?”

“Well, _I’m_ not!” you retorted, pushing back against him to little avail. You craned your neck back. “Let me go! I need to talk to him about my insurance—”

“What are you talking about?” Kuroo crooned, his breath suddenly scalding on your face. He stopped and you stopped with him, flinching as his rough tongue darted out over the shell of your ear, making it cold despite the heat on your face. All this time, he had warned you. You hadn’t listened. But he was what he said he was: a member of a biker gang, and a dangerous one. 

“You _are_ a criminal,” he whispered.

“I—no.” You shook your head, trying to shake off the fogginess. “I’m an elementary school teacher. What are you talking about?” You struggled to compose your thoughts as he nestled his face right up to yours. You kept your eyes trained forwards so that you wouldn’t meet his, even though you could feel them burning twin holes in you.

“I was right. I saw a snake. Daishou. The bastard slipped away, but there’s no doubt that he was the one who torched your shack. Nobody else would be so cowardly to burn a schoolteacher’s house down…”

“Daishou _Suguru_?” you repeated in disbelief, the name enough to strike cold fear in your blood like cobra venom. You’d never met, but his gang was ruthless, storming into your house to make sure you weren’t harbouring any enemies or extra cash. Nohebi ran a highly illegal tax service in the neighbourhoods. 9-1-1 What’s your Emergency? wouldn’t cut it when you already had your throat slit, so nobody appealed to the authorities. Daishou had given you a lot of grief for somebody you hadn’t ever laid eyes on.

Kuroo hummed in response, and started to walk you forwards again.

“He probably knows you saved me. That’s as good as a death sentence, girl. So when you say ‘I’m not a criminal’, you’re lying. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the Nekoma Group.”

“I did _not_ ask for this!” you muttered, looking up to the sky as if to curse God. God merely laughed at you in the sound of your roof crumbling to the ground. Fuck you, God. 

“Also!” you snapped at Kuroo, “my house was not a shack, it was a decent bungalow—” You kept ranting as he sat you back down on his bike like a doll, laughing. His sharp teeth gleamed red in the firelight.

“Hold on.”

“I’m not read— _agh_!”

\---

The Nekoma hideout didn’t seem like a hideout. It was an average Japanese style home on the street, with brightly lit windows and a nicely trimmed lawn. You saw figures moving behind sheer curtains. If you didn’t know better, it’d just be an average suburban family home. You gaped at it, and jumped as somebody suddenly called out.

“Oh, Kuroo!” 

“Oh? I told you, Mrs. Hasegawa. Tetsurou is fine.”

The old lady giggled shrilly and you saw a rosy blush come across her aged face. She fanned herself, laughing behind a wrinkled hand that was bedecked with expensive looking jewellery. “Well, I hope you wouldn’t mind me clipping some of your hydrangeas some day. They’re just so beautiful, I got jealous!”

“Not at all, Mrs. Hasegawa. Nothing is too much for my favourite neighbour! Yaku has a way with flowers, after all, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Don’t tell Mrs. Kurosaki that I’m your favourite, now! Thank you, dear.” She finally saw you, sitting there cringing, and her smile brightened immensely. “Oh! A girlfriend, Tetsurou?”

“What—?!” you stammered, flustered immediately by the mere thought, but Kuroo merely laughed smoothly.

“Of course not. Just somebody we’re helping out is all. Good night, ma’am.”

“Good night to you two as well!” she replied, waving amiably before heading back indoors. You scowled at Kuroo, who easily dismounted his bike.

“What? Now you’re an old lady charmer, too?”

“I know you can’t relate to my good looks, but that’s usually what happens when you’re decently attractive.” He smirked as you turned a deep shade of red.

“I-I’m good looking! I could totally be your girlfriend!”

“Oh?”

“Not that I want to be—shut up and help me get off, you fucker!”

\---

“Kenma. Nekoma hacker. Stays indoors. An otaku. Plays pervy games when he thinks he’s alone.”

“Kuroo—” the blond protested, but Kuroo had already moved his finger, pointing at the next person in line.

“Lev. A big baby. Kind of a shit shot, but he’s big and scary. He’ll cry if you don’t say good morning to him.”

The silver haired boy waved, frowning at the added afterthought tacked onto the end, but Kuroo was still steering you through the meet-and-greet at the speed of light.

“Yamamoto and Inuoka. Clowns. Idiots.”

Yamamoto cowered behind Inuoka for some reason when he saw you, his face incredibly red, and Inuoka waved cheerfully. You were about to wave back before Kuroo kept pushing you deeper into the house.

“Yaku. Father figure here. Short.”

“ _Damn you—!_ ”

“Shibayama. Fukunaga. Noboyuki.”

You arrived back into the living room, having completed a full loop around the first story of the house. Kuroo had both his hands on your shoulder blades and finally stopped pushing you like a shopping cart. You turned back to him, and his grin was ear to ear.

“And me, the charismatic, handsome leader. We’re what makes up Nekoma. Welcome, Miss. [Surname].”

They all chimed a ‘Welcome!’, and suddenly, you had flashbacks from the first day of school, where all the kids would stand and greet you with a bow. It was disconcerting, especially since these people weren’t third graders and were actual criminals. 

“Um… you can just call me [Name], since you’ve kidnapped me and everything.” You waved your hands awkwardly, hoping that they’d raise their heads. Yaku’s brow furrowed.

“What’s she talking about, Kuroo?” Yaku’s expression darkened dangerously and you started to shy away from the shortest man. “Don’t tell me you did something dumb.”

“Ah. Well, see…”

He explained how Daishou, the leader of the Nohebi Gang had burnt down your house, suspecting you of aiding and abetting the rival gang. Even _you_ knew that Nekoma and Nohebi weren’t on great terms. You didn’t even think they were on bad terms. Their shootouts killed people every time. Seeing Kuroo stand and explain your situation when you wondered how many people he’d killed made you sick, and you had to look away.

“So that’s that. She’s got to stay with us now, since Nohebi will eat her up if we let her on her own.”

“I can take care of myself!” you protested. The one you remembered as Lev burst out laughing, which hurt your feelings more than if he’d just told you that you were stupid.

“Sorry, but… you, and somebody from Nohebi?” The tall man pressed his lips to suppress another laugh, and depressed, you shook your head.

“No… you’re right. I’m sorry but…” You bowed your head, sacrificing your dignity. “Please. I need your protection.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just let Kuroo die,” Yaku mused sympathetically, patting your shoulder comfortingly. “You should’ve. We would’ve all been better off, Miss.”

“Y-Yaku…” Kuroo choked.

“Yeah,” you replied without hesitation, equally as regretful, ignoring Kuroo’s pained plea. “I should’ve.”

“[Name]…”

“But what’s done is done,” you muttered. You looked at the teacup in your hands, staring down at your reflection. “If there’s people hell-bent on killing me, then that’s that.”

“You’re weird. Don’t women usually like… cry and complain?” Kenma asked quietly from his spot, looking up from a smart phone. 

“This isn’t an otome game, Kenma.”

You merely shrugged, deciding to ignore the remark about dating games.

“Why cry when it’s going to happen anyways?”

“You don’t have to worry,” Kuroo said, having gotten over his bout of depression after hearing you wish him dead. He stood in front of you, forcing you to look up, and your breath caught in your throat after spying the look in his eye.

“You’re family now. We’re a pride. And anybody that comes after family dies.” His grin was no longer friendly, and the chipped canines smiled down at you like twin demons. His knuckles cracked one by one, and you imagined necks snapping with each noise.

“That’s that.”

“You’re scaring her!” Lev whined, shattering the ominous mood. Kuroo looked surprised.

“A-am I? I didn’t think so. I just wanted to try that line. Was it too cheesy?”

“Definitely!” you shouted, getting to your feet. Was this really a gang, or a collection of dudebros?! You sighed, rubbing your temples. Then you began to laugh, which brought the entire house to a grinding halt as they watched you chortle to yourself.

“Is she okay?” somebody asked quietly as you guffawed, holding a stitch in your side. Tears in your eyes, you looked up to Kuroo, who was watching you with bewildered eyes. You pointed accusatorily.

“You guys are all idiots. Idiots! I can’t believe I was scared of you! But whatever… fine, I’ll trust you.”

“You will? Just like that?” Yaku asked, sounding surprised. You nodded wearily.

“I don’t have a choice. Mr. Kuroo kidnapped me, didn’t he?”

Kuroo laughed gently, a smile on his lips. “You know, we don’t get cable here. I don’t get to watch Martha Stewart.”

“That’s fine. I’ll bake something.”

“Seriously?!” Lev asked, reawakened as he stumbled to his feet excitedly. “Then, can we make brownies?”

This was the beginning of your real adventure. The real back-of-the-book synopsis of your life. Things always change just as you got settled, and change is neither good or bad. Change is change, but this one seemed to work out for the better.

So, as you settled in, you had no idea. You had no idea when shots would be fired and who would be people that would lay dying; you had no idea that you’d be there when Kuroo would have you lean down to hear his last words.

But change is inevitable.


	5. Chapter 5: You (Almost) Get A Dick Face Tattoo

The Nekomas had set you up in one of the spare bedrooms, hurriedly clearing things out for you. Obviously, they hadn’t been expecting a new addition and ran around frantically, _Home Alone One_ -esque and all. You found it quite touching that they were going to such lengths for you, as you watched the gangsters skitter around the house with bundles of clothes in their arms. The room wasn’t very much different from any other, with a clean bed and warm new house smell. You didn’t have anything to set it up with, but you could already see yourself coming home here every night. Sleeping was easy, too, what with your body having been exhausted from your emotional thrillcoaster with Terushima and then the actual near-death scenarios (plural!) you’d run through with Kuroo. The funny thing was that you didn’t feel at all uneasy about nesting up in the middle of a gang’s hideyhole. In fact, you felt more secure than you ever had at your old house. You were practically dead before your head hit the pillow.

Your body’s circadian rhythm jolted you awake after a faint dream. You couldn’t remember it, too groggy, and rolled over with a little groan. You squinted at your watch and suddenly gasped, tumbling out of the bed in your hurry. Your legs tangled in the sheets and you made a very ungraceful noise as you went down, immediately popping back up and struggling to find your pants. With them half-zipped up, you bunny-hopped down the stairs and about blasted off before somebody cleared their throat.

“Where’re you going?”

You stopped in your tracks. Kuroo was sitting on the couch, his feet kicked up (with his shoes off; he was a wanted criminal, not an _animal_ ), delicately holding a rolled blunt in his hands. You didn’t like the idea of anybody smoking away their life, but it looked totally natural dangling from between his long fingers, silver smoke trailing up to the sky. A more tentative inhale told you it was straight weed and Kuroo grinned, shaking it at you.

“Want a hit?”

“I’ve got to get to school,” you mumbled, shaking your head and blinking hard as you tried to figure out whether or not you were hallucinating him. “I’m going to be late for first period…”

“Uh… no offense, but I don’t think you have a job anymore. Not when Daishou’s got a death warrant on you. Also, it’s Saturday.”

You blinked, and reached a fist down into your skirt pocket for your phone. He was right, and you felt both a wave of relief with apprehension come over you.

“I’ll need to call a sub,” you realized despairingly. “And send in my resignation letter… _ugh_ , just when I was going to get those benefits, too? Free massages!”

Kuroo patted the seat next to him. Tired, you obligingly plopped over, nestling into the surprisingly comfortable leather couch. Kuroo reached over and tousled your hair, which didn’t even faze you when you were so sleepy. 

“You’re pretty calm for somebody who’s out of a job because they’ll be killed if they step outside.”

“Maybe I’m getting an off-high,” you mumbled, your eyelids drooping shut. The smooth, buttery smell of smoke was soothing in a familiar sort of way, and Kuroo’s low chuckle only nodded you a step back towards sleep.

“C’mon. Go back to bed.”

“‘Kay…”

Your eyelids slid open with shock when you felt his arms wrap around you and the couch disappear. Instinctively, your hands locked around his neck and he began to carry you back up the stairs. Your legs swung like a metronome, in time with his steps.

“You don’t have to do that,” you muttered stubbornly. “I can walk.” 

He merely blew a swatch of smoke towards you. Although you would’ve told him off for it any other day, inhaling it made your head throb peacefully and your mind’s anxieties cool off. You nestled your face closer into his chest, breathing in deeper, until you forgot that you were awake at all.

You weren’t awake when he kissed you on the forehead, but something good was happening in your dreams, and you were smiling lazily even when he closed the door behind him and left.

\---

“So… what should I do now?” you asked, now that everybody had woken up at a more appropriate time. Yamamoto, who was still unaccustomed to your femininity it seemed, flinched away from you when you glanced over. Yaku, who had no problem with it, tapped his chin.

“Uh… grocery shopping?”

“Grocery shopping?” you repeated, disgustedly. Yaku nodded.

“We’ll be out on a job all day, and we ran out of supplies yesterday since _somebody_ can’t follow instructions.” He shot a nasty look at Lev, who raised his trashbin lid sized hands defensively.

“Hey! It’s not my fault I can’t cook!”

“Baking is hardly cooking! It’s just following a recipe, so basically, you just admitted that you suck at reading!”

“Yaku, I really—”

“It’s okay! I’ll go!” you butted in, hasty to stop their arguing to prevent another flour fight that had devastated the scene yesterday night. Worse case scenario was fair game, and you had no desire to see guns or knives flying around the living room. “I just need one person to accompany me, right?”

“I’ll go with you,” Kuroo said, volunteering himself before anybody else could speak up. He’d changed into a loose black v-neck t-shirt and black jeans, ripped, with his hair still styled in that unstyled way. If you didn’t know him, he could’ve passed for the lead visual belonging to a pop group, minus the smudged eyeliner.

“You sure, Kuroo?” Yaku asked, looking puzzled. “We might need you when we—”

“You guys have got this!” Kuroo waved them off easily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and dragging you away. He made a lazy peace sign back to them. “See you later tonight.”

“Remember the eggs!” somebody shouted as Kuroo kicked the door shut behind you. Curiously, you raised an eyebrow.

“What job is this?” you asked.

“Nothing you need to know. Better that you don’t, probably.” He jogged down the steps and kicked up his stand easily, holding out a hand to help you on. You ignored it and clambered on yourself, having already gotten used to straddling the gigantic motorcycle. 

“I thought I was part of the crew,” you complained distantly, crossing your arms. “Don’t crew pals tell each other things?”

“You are,” Kuroo laughed. He seemed to remember something and bent down, before throwing something back at you. You only just caught it before it knocked your skull clear off your neck, and when you realized what it was, you scowled.

“Seriously?”

“You’ll need to protect your identity!” Kuroo exclaimed, looking back with a stupid grin on his face. “It’s for safety.”

You rotated the helmet to show him the problem, pointing at the fluffy pink cat ears attached to the top. They’d obviously been glued on as some sort of joke and were crooked, strings of holographic plastic fluttering in the breeze. “Really? I don’t think _these_ add to my safety.”

“You ought to put it on before I start off.” 

The bike’s ignition roared to life before dying down to a barely tolerable purr, and with a groan, you shoved your head into the Kitty Kat Helmet with much difficulty. Kuroo’s hocking laugh was muffled, and you could only retaliate by grabbing him around the waist and squeezing him with all your strength. But, the way he flew down the street told you that holding on with all of your strength was a necessity anyways, and you were actually thankful that the stupid kid’s helmet could stifle your screaming.

\---

“I’m never going to get used to you.”

“You will, someday.”

You couldn’t help a laugh of amusement as he scooped up the bags, hefting them as if they were nothing. “Did you come out of the womb on a bike? Honestly…”

It was definitely a new experience of yours to walk into a grocery store with Kuroo by your side. You no longer had any trouble picking the best thing off of the high shelves, and people willingly gave up their spots in line whenever Kuroo asked. It seemed that having a no-refund membership to the Nekoma gang came with perks after all. You hoped that they had free massage benefits for you, too. Maybe Lev?

Kuroo grinned back at you, his sharp teeth flashing in a way that already seemed familiar. “Maybe. I flashed gang signs at the doctor.”

“I’ll carry some,” you offered, suddenly feeling bad as you watched him struggle through the doors with his baggage. He merely shook his head.

“You’re one of us. I told you. We help each other out. Also, you have noodle arms, and I don’t want to hear you complain more than you already do.”

“Excuse me!?” you protested, chasing after him as he walked back to where he’d parked the bike. “I’m perfectly capable!”

“Yeah, okay. You could probably bench press like, a piece of bread.”

“Don’t make me kick you! I thought I was _one of the group_ , like you keep saying. Do you treat everybody else like this?”

“Yup,” he replied, so genuinely that you had a real loss for words. He beamed at you as he set down the groceries. “But you’re right. You saved my life; I owe you mine. I already told you this.”

“So you owing me your life means making me buy leeks for your little famjam thing? Got it.”

He laughed again before pulling out a black sharpie from his back pocket. The action was so sudden that you froze, confused. He uncapped it and waggled it in your face teasingly.

“What?” you demanded nervously, batting his hand away.

“You’re Nekoma. We’ve all got tattoos.”

“You’re kidding me?! Matching tattoos?” you yelped. “That’s fucking juvenile!”

“Who even uses the word ‘juvenile’?” Kuroo asked judgementally, raising an eyebrow. You scowled.

“A language arts teacher. Forget it, I’m not going to get tatted for your bros.”

“I know, I was kidding. Jeez. But you should still let me draw one on. A tempie. Here, I’ll even put it on your face to make you look extra scary.”

“No way! You’ll just draw a fuckin’ dick on me!” But you couldn’t help laughing as you swatted at him, fighting off his attempts to mark you up. Obviously, the six-foot biker guy was stronger than you and grabbed your right hand, scribbling something across the palm. You yelped, ticklish, as the pen left trails of cold ink on your skin.

“What is it!?” you demanded, grabbing your hand back after he left go. He was smirking, as always.

“My name. You’re mine now, aren’t you? Gotta make sure nobody tries to steal you away.”

“Women aren’t property,” you reminded peevishly, but despite that, your heart flickered. Being his…? An image of you, leaning up against him on his bike as he ravished you with kisses that’d make God avert his eyes… 

“Well, you’re no ordinary woman.”

Suddenly, in a Wal-Mart parking lot at something like eleven in the morning, the six-foot biker guy was leaning towards you. Your vision became more vivid and you smelt him again, his scent unknown but hardly intangible. You wanted to know it. You felt his eyelashes flutter on your face first, his breath second. You were a smart, rational girl—you’d just met this guy a couple of days ago, and really, did you even _know_ him? But you felt your weight shift forwards, tilting you towards him, closer to him, until—

—in a Wal-Mart parking lot at something like eleven in the morning, shots were fired, bullets skittering at your feet. Sparks lit up between you. 

Kuroo’s touch was gone in a heartbeat.


	6. Chapter 6: You Forgot The Milk

“What the fuck do we do?!” you screamed, lifting your feet up as if that might save you from being blown to bits by the rifle shells. Kuroo roughly took your wrist, wrenching you onto the back of the bike, already moving before you had even touched your ass to the leather. Your arms clasped around his waist tightly as you leant forwards, trying to hear him over the wind screaming in your ear. Bullets were still ricocheting against something and you knew that you could very well be dead by the next breath.

“There’s a gun on my left! Reach it and give me cover fire!” he yelled back, squeezing between two large city buses. Each breath tasted of burnt rubber. The noise of the city accompanied by the howling of wind made him sound a lifetime away. You winced at the sound of angry honking following you, your arms tightening around his waist. “I can’t lose them until some go down!”

You ground your teeth together and mustered the courage to let go of him, one of your arms still hooked around him as you reached for the gun. Your fingers founds purchase against the hard metal, brushing past the bare skin of his warm abdomen as you grasped it. The pistol was surprisingly light in your hands, making you wonder if it was even loaded.

“Cover fire!” Kuroo shouted back, taking a hairpin right. You yelped, holding on tightly, shrinking up to cling to his back. This was _so_ not what you had expected when you’d gone out for fucking _milk_. 

Even though you wanted to do nothing more than to sit down and cry in distress, there was work to be done. You made sure you were holding on tightly, your thighs clenching the bike as if it’d anchor you. You might as well have been trying to ride a shark for how quickly Kuroo dared to drive. Leaning to the left, you waited for something to come into the view of his mirror. There was a flash of green and you turned, sucking in a deep breath and steeling your ribcage in place.

There were three bikes in conspicuous pursuit. They weaved between cars, advancing quickly. Your eyes slid over their faces, adrenaline and fear replacing rationality. What did you have to do again? 

“Cover fire!” Kuroo bellowed, nearly ramming into the back of a bus. A bullet hit the bus’ brake lights, shattering it, sending red shards into your face. You spat them out.

Right, cover fire. 

You turned, raised the gun and pressed the trigger lightly. You were so shocked by the force of kickback that you just about dropped the gun onto the concrete. Now a bit more confident after your initial fuck-up, you aimed and took another shot, squeezing an eye shut to mark where the bullet would land. Your hand was steady and you took the shot.

The other bike’s tire popped like a balloon, lurching the rider forwards. He spun out wide, crashing into a storefront, bringing a cacophony of shattered glass raining down. You were forced to take messy pot shots at the one closest, seeing him pull something out of his jacket in your peripheral. There was no time for sweet trickshots when he was probably getting ready to gun you down with an assault rifle. Miraculously, something hit. His wheel exploded into orange sparks, turning him forwards, and you watched as he did somersaults with a 200 kg scrap of metal as an acrobatics partner. You aimed at the next one, but the gun clicked meekly, as if embarrassed. Out of ammo.

“I’m out!” you shrieked, turning back around to hug yourself to Kuroo. You both leant down, bracing yourself against the wind as he weaved between vehicles. You felt his muscles tense in response and he took a sharp right, immediately cutting the engine and backing up into an alley frantically. You were still breathing hard and he suddenly clapped a hand over your mouth, his eyes flashing with warning in the shadows. Against the wall, he seemed to melt into the shadows. You nodded silently and focused on controlling your breaths, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of Kuroo on your back. Only a few counts later, a bike whizzed past, screeching at the far end before slowly riding off into the quiet. Kuroo waited a couple of painfully slow, terrifying minutes before releasing you, allowing you to collapse onto him.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded, after you’d caught your breath. “ _Whom_ was that?!”

“I’m guessing Daishou and other Nohebis,” Kuroo muttered. He turned and grasped your shoulder suddenly, propping you up straight. “Did he hurt you?”

You ran your hands along your arms and looked down at your legs. You touched your head. No blood; no pain. There didn’t seem to be anything out of order. 

“No,” you told him, “not a scratch.”

“Good,” he sighed, looking genuinely relieved. “I’m glad.” His eyes fell towards your hand and he reached, plucking the gun out of your stiff fingers. He tossed it in his hand, catching it, dropping the empty cartridge onto his hand to check for jamming. He shoved it back into the waistband of his pants. The look he gave you was curious, but suspicious.

“You’re a hell of a good shot. You hit two out of three moving targets. Not bad.”

“A lucky shot…” you muttered distantly. Your eyes flicked to your hands, and you imagined blood on them. You winced. “Do you think the guys I hit were killed?”

Seemingly surprised by the sudden heavy question, Kuroo didn’t have any signature snarky words on hand. He snorted with faint amusement instead, reaching a hand up and ruffling your hair.

“Doubt it. Snakes are tough, unfortunately. They keep coming back.”

You reached up and took his hand off of your head, your fingers gripping his. He watched as you lowered his hand, your fingers sliding across his palm.

“I really hope… that they’re not dead,” you breathed, your voice so weak that you couldn’t find enough energy to say it properly. 

“Think of it this way. You got us out of there alive, didn’t you?”

When you didn’t reply, Kuroo leant forwards. You felt him snuffle the top of your nose, a familiar Eskimo kiss that suddenly had you rocketing back to your childhood. You turned your eyes up and Kuroo was grinning loosely. He seemed to recognize that there was nothing he could do to help you than to keep you moving forwards with gentle sincerity. 

“Come on. Let’s get back home.”

“What about the other guy? The third one?” you asked worriedly, a bit of strength restored after Kuroo’s small embrace. His expression faltered and he scowled.

“Daishou…” He sighed heavily. “I was surprised to see that he actually came out in the open rather than sending one of his stupid henchmen. We’ll probably catch him around again, whether we like it or not. And I know for a fact that none of us will like seeing his ugly mug.”

With that, he started up the engine. You instinctively wrapped your arms around him, but this time, you butted your head into his back, hiding the light of day. Kuroo seemed to sense your mood and rode gently, more carefully than usual, letting you wade in deeper and deeper thoughts. Despite his silence, his warmth reminded you that he was there, and you found yourself surfacing much sooner than you could’ve if you had been alone.

\---

“Kenma!” Kuroo yelled, immediately after stepping into the house. He’d led you through a back door entrance, which was a complicated set of electronic locks that you didn’t think belonged on a suburban two-story. The house seemed empty still, and you followed closely behind Kuroo, afraid to let him out of sight for even a second. Kuroo led you to an open door, peering into the dark room. You hadn’t thought that anybody was inside until you saw a flash of blond hair, a multitude of computer screens brightly lit. The blue light gave Kenma a creepy glow as his brow furrowed.

“What is it, Kur—?”

“I need you to scan traffic cams for Daishou,” Kuroo interrupted, grabbing the bag of crisps Kenma had been holding and chewing on a handful. Crumbs fell from his mouth as he spoke hurriedly, his words accompanied with crinkling. “He snuck up on us somehow, and I want to know where he went.”

“ _Nohebi_ found you?” Kenma asked, his eyes widening. He didn’t even look mad about the stolen food, sitting up straight. “Already?”

“Yeah. So we’ve got to think about our next move—fast. We’re fucked if he one-ups us again.”

Kenma obligingly turned around and set to work. You watched, fascinated by his ease as he rolled around the room in his office chair, typing this and that. His hands flew across the keys, which weren’t in Japanese or English—rather, they looked as if they’d been custom made, printed and arranged in such a strange way that you could only imagine that he had made the keyboards and its language himself. You made a mental note to treat Kenma with extra care. Something about him made you think that pissing him off would end you up in a dark Kazakh prison within a week. 

“Is this legal?” you asked wondrously as windows on windows of traffic camera footage popped up on the screens. Kenma was silent, typing furiously, so Kuroo answered with a shrug.

“Some of them are public domain, so yes. Some are… grey area.” He nudged you suddenly, bringing your eyes up to his. In the dim computer room, his golden eyes practically glowed. “You don’t kiss and tell now, do you?”

Before you could muster up some sort of witty response, Kenma’s typing slowed until finally, he stopped. The clacking was silenced. In his chair, he turned slowly, chewing on his bottom lip. Your blood cooled at the sight of his expression. Kuroo practically forgot about your existence and stepped into the room, crossing his arms in front of Kenma. 

“What?”

Kenma said nothing. Annoyed, Kuroo scowled.

“We’re on a fucking time crunch. Come on, Kenma. Spit it out.”

“…are you sure, Kuroo?” The young man looked nervous as his dark gold eyes flicked to yours. Your brow furrowed as he suddenly looked away, as if afraid to meet your gaze. Kuroo frowned.

“She’s one of us. What you tell me, you tell everybody.”

“…okay then. If you say so, boss.” Kenma turned and hit a key. Your breath caught when you saw yourself, blown up on all thirteen of Kenma’s screens. Your grim expression was a slash across your face, your real name—one you hadn’t seen in years—printed underneath. You closed your eyes to block out the sight of Kuroo’s horrified expression.

“ _She_ isn’t all that she says she is.”


	7. Chapter 7: You Spill the Beans, but Kuroo Doesn't Seem to Care For Legumes

Your new room seemed a lot less homey than it had been when you first moved in. The bare plaster looked more like prison walls, and the cool air of the room made you feel like you were only passing the time as you waited for your turn to have a seat in the electric chair. Eyeing the window did you no good—you’d only die in the fall. There was no choice but for you to sit… and wait.

You finally gave up on pacing and sat on your bed, stiff backed, your eyes turned down at your phone’s clock. You could hear each pathetically shaky breath. How quickly could you dash down the stairs? Not enough. If Kuroo had enough power to haunt your mere thoughts, you didn’t want to be anywhere near that silver switchblade of his.

Finally, the door cracked open, startling you. You jumped to your feet, standing up as Kuroo walked in. He closed the door behind him quietly, his lips pressed into a tight line. He leant on the door, arms crossed behind him as he surveyed you carefully. The lamp’s light did his face little justice, highlighting scars and grim shadows.

“…I told Kenma not to tell anybody else. _Yet_.”

You breathed a short sigh of relief. He walked past you, sitting on the bed. With a forceful, ‘there-is-no-other-option’ way, he patted the spot next to him. You sat back down slowly, unable to look at his face out of fear. You remembered first realizing he was Nekoma in your living room, watching Martha Stewart slap cookie dough, and felt that this was much, much worse.

“Now, even though I told Kenma to keep it on hold… you have to tell _me_. Sharing is caring, right, _[Name]_? Or should I say…” Kuroo moved in your peripheral and you glanced over, seeing him rest his head on his hands as he came forwards to balance on his elbows. He wasn’t looking at you, staring right at the wall. He didn’t continue, but you heard your real name through his lips anyways. 

“Tell me who you are.”

The words were cold. All of the warmth you’d felt from him: sitting behind him on his bike; having him carry you up the stairs; holding you tightly and kissing you on the forehead—gone. The room was frigid. 

“I’m a schoolteacher—”

“No, tell me who you _really_ are.” He was glaring at you now, his hand shooting forwards. You gasped as his large fingers wrapped around your wrist, his face coming so close that you smelt the pine off his cologne. 

“...you’re taking my pulse,” you realised calmly, relaxing. “And gauging my pupils. You want to know if I’m lying.”

He cocked his head in response curiously. You chewed on your lip, before sighing. Your shoulders slumped.

“Why does it matter if I tell you, Kuroo? It sounds like you already know.”

“I want to hear it from your own mouth.” His grip tightened around your wrist. You winced, before nodding grimly.

“ _Before_ I was a schoolteacher… I was an Interpol field agent.” Finally, you looked up at him, meeting his golden eyes. He stared back at you before his hand relaxed, his fingers now lazily curled around you. It was less of a vice grip than innocent handholding, but you still knew that those hands could easily snap every bone in your body.

“So Kenma was right.”

“I… yeah. He was. I didn’t get WitPro, because I deserted. That’s why I’m still logged in the system. Since Kenma’s a freakishly good hacker, I guess he accessed the encrypted Interpol records. For all anybody knows, I’m still alive, just not as [Name].” You sighed again, feeling his fingers twitch instinctively around your wrist as you said your pseudonym. “Well, I guess you have a right to be suspicious. I mean, I was a member of the field team for the organized crime sector… and what am I now?” You snorted. “A _part_ of organized crime.”

“So what happened? Why’d you dip out?” Kuroo asked, his hand still wrapped around your wrist. It was warm and gentle, and you had a fleeting hope that his hand would move into yours and entwine with your fingers. He was quiet and you realized that he was waiting patiently. 

“Have you ever had to kill anybody?” you asked abruptly, your voice soft but monotonous. You didn’t even blink. “Have you ever seen people die because _you_ were the one who killed them?”

“Hm. Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t.”

“I… _I_ have. I’ve killed too many people.” Your eyes slowly moved to his again. “Too many sons and daughters and fathers and mothers died because _I_ killed them. How many lives have I ruined with one bullet? How many tears have been shed because I pulled a trigger? I don’t know if you know what it’s like, killing as an agent… but you get the joy of cleaning up the fuckin’ bodies. Maybe you have killed somebody, Kuroo, but you’ve never had to go to their families and say ‘sorry for ruining your life!’” You shook your head angrily. 

“No. I couldn’t do it anymore. I went and became a teacher in that fuckin’ shitass neighbourhood for two reasons. 1: I wanted to redeem myself, as much as I could. Maybe God’ll let me off the hook if I get some kids out of shit. Maybe I can atone for my wrongs if I groom up the next Einstein or Ghandi. Do some good for the future world, y’know…?”

As you drifted into silence, Kuroo asked quietly, “what about your second reason?”

“Two… reason two? Sad, actually. I figured that I had a better chance of getting shot and killed in crossfire if I lived in gang territory rather than the suburbs. _That’s_ why I’m here. _That’s_ why we met. _That’s_ why I run from my past self.” You shook him off, feeling as if you didn’t deserve the comfort of warmth. “Doesn’t matter anymore, does it? I fucked it up. I still have blood on my hands. Whoever those Nohebi guys were... “ You groaned, remembering their broken bodies even as you closed your eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I do, anymore. I’ve taken more than I can give. Every time I try to be better, I just end up ruining more and more.”

“I didn’t think that you’d be so goody two-shoes.”

Kuroo’s large hands were delicate as he fixed a stray piece of hair off your forehead, tucking it behind your ear. His face was distantly amused, which did not fit the sombre spilling of your guts and tragic backstory. You gaped.

“What’re you—didn’t you hear me when I said I like, shot and killed a bunch of people? And how that like, fucked me up? For life?”

“And yet you saved _my_ sorry ass, didn’t you? Maybe that’s the only one that matters.”

“You’re kidding me!” you replied, actually baffled by his easy-going tone. “Y-you think that _you’re_ more important than other people? How could you be so stuck-up?”

“Yeah. I think I’m more important than a lot of people. But you know who’s more important than me?” Suddenly, you were wrapped up in a hug, your face pressed into the dark fabric of his shirt. The warmth you thought you’d lost was returned, enveloping you like the familiar scent of home.

“The people I love. And if only one life matters in this world, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to give mine up.”

“You’re an idiot,” you realized, your voice muffled in his shoulder. Your eyes were still wide as you stared past his shoulder, your arms hanging from your sides stupidly. “You are an actual, full-blown idiot.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“Because I’m n-not a nice person,” you said, your voice getting shakier and weaker as the hot tears welled in your eyes. “You’re an idiot for even trying to make me feel better…”

“Shh. You’re giving yourself a lot more shit than you deserve.”

“I don’t _deserve_ this, though!” you cried out, finally mustering the strength to push him away. You swiped the tears from your face. “You—everybody here—I don’t even deserve to live, much less find _love_ with other people! Whatever the fuck you have to say to me doesn’t matter. I’ve done too much wrong.”

“I think that _you’re_ the idiot here,” Kuroo said softly. “Didn’t I already tell you? Life-long contract. We’re practically married.”

“What?” you breathed, having totally forgotten about his little speech to you from when he’d first left. It felt like so long ago, but really, no time at all had passed. From then and now, you’d been gunned down, had your life threatened—really, it felt like you’d already known him for a lifetime.

_“How about this? As thanks for saving my sorry ass, I’ll give you free protection for as long as you need it. Lifelong contract, no strings attached.”_

“‘Till death do us part.’ Okay, girl? You’ll be fine. Besides, those elementary kids are going to be lost without their favourite teach. You need to get back to them soon, [Name].” He pulled you in for another hug, more open, so that you were only leaning sideways onto him. His voice was low. “I promise. Things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

“What if they _are_ as bad as they seem?” you whispered hoarsely, your anger having gone out of you like a sad, deflated balloon. His arm merely tightened around you.

“Leave it to me. I’m your protector, remember? I’ll fight off whatever makes you upset.”

“What if _I’m_ the one making me upset?” you asked wryly. You sniffled, closing your eyes to blot away your tears. Kuroo shifted underneath you, and when you reopened your eyes, he was suddenly right in front of you. His teeth gleamed like moonlight. His nose grazed yours and you suddenly tasted his signature grin.

“Then you’ll just have to let me _make_ you feel better.”


	8. Chapter 8: You Meet Up With Darkness, Your Old Friend, Who Keeps Insulting Kuroo's Dick Size

Before his lips could touch yours, somebody burst into the room. You jumped away from him, your hand landing on Kuroo’s warm chest as your eyes locked with Lev’s. The tall half-Russian boy didn’t even seem to be concerned about walking into your ‘moment’, breathing hard as his green eyes shot to Kuroo.

“We have a situation.”

“There’s always a fuckin’ situation,” Kuroo grumbled, not seeming the least bit concerned despite the obvious tension written across the tall Eurasian man’s face. Kuroo waved a lazy hand. “Go. I’ll be there soon.”

“Hurry,” Lev said gravely, before dashing off. His footsteps were loud on the stairs. You stared openly at Kuroo in complete befuddlement. He merely sighed with slight annoyance. Kuroo glanced to you, his eyes still smoldering from faraway. 

“Raincheck?” he said apologetically. You blinked.

“Um—”

“Kuroo!” came Yaku’s frantic yell from downstairs, “cops!”

Concern finally hit Kuroo’s face and he scowled, bouncing to his feet. He held out a hand for you and you took it, still dazed from the smell of his cologne. He yanked you up unceremoniously and dropped something in your hand.

“I’m assuming you know how to shoot. Watch yourself. If things go wrong, save yourself. Don’t worry about us. Leave us behind and go.”

He delivered a swift kiss to the top of your head. After that, he turned and raced down the stairs. There was more shouting and suddenly, there were the tell-tale cracks of gunshots. Rapid fire from the big, dangerous ones (as if there were guns that weren’t dangerous). You jumped, the small pistol in your hands feeling heavier by the second. 

Why did this keep happening to you?

“‘Don’t worry about us’,” you mocked spitefully, turning to move out the door. You shook your head. “I’m already worried, you dumbass.”

You dropped the magazine into your palm, confirming a full clip. It cocked neatly as you flicked the safety off. Satisfied with your weapon, you crept down the stairs. There was no ceasefire to the shooting and you could spy Yamamoto’s bleached tuft of hair through the railing. He’d turned the couch up as cover and crouched behind it, an assault rifle in his hands. Bullet holes painted the white walls. Plaster rained from the ceiling like Christmas day snow. Wasn’t it just yesterday that you were baking brownies in their kitchen?

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes to block out the world. You had to focus. _Remember your training_. Your fingers squeezed the gun Kuroo had given you, and tired muscles tensed with the memory of vigorous academy drills. Finally, your resolve stiffened and things sped up to move at their normal pace again. 

There was more yelling. The guns made too much noise for you to hear clearly, but the most distinctive voice wasn’t any of the Nekoma boys’. Still, it sounded familiar to you. Too familiar.

“Mark!” They called hoarsely. Your lips moved in return.

_Sync._

Well, shit. This was just your goddamn luck.

Hurriedly moving during their quiet reload window, you darted down the stairs. You were still hidden from sight in the dark, and your eyes drifted to the door. Kuroo’s words were still fresh in your mind, especially the line about leaving him and the others behind. It would be easy for you to escape. All you had to do was turn away and forget about them. They’d kidnapped you, after all, and you hardly knew any of them for long enough to be justified in sticking around. Your foot ghosted forwards before you heard Kuroo’s voice, the feeling of his lips on your forehead burning on your skin.

_You’re one of us._

You couldn’t leave them behind. Not now. With a small groan, you ignored the hallway that led off to the back door and instead, did the very smart thing of running directly into the middle of the crossfire.

“Daichi!” you screamed, your hands held up high above your head. Kuroo’s pistol clattered to the floor as you stared out into the bright assortments of white light, having to squint as triggers clicked unanimously. Red dots formed constellations across your chest and you grit your teeth. You sought out his face desperately, your heart pounding. Their uniforms were black and blurry behind the guns.

“[Name]?” you heard Kuroo yell from behind, panicky. “What the fuck are you doing? Get out of the way!”

“Daichi, it’s me!” you shouted again, ignoring Kuroo entirely. Luckily, everybody seemed to be confused enough by your moronic actions to hold their fire. The agent who had his gun pointed in your face did not lower his weapon, but cocked his shadowy head as you kept talking. “It’s me, Hoshie Nakamura. We went to school together and you shot a score of 98.34% accuracy on the preliminary exam. I threw up on your dick at that Christmas Eve office party! And then Hinata threw up too! Remember? It’s _me_!”

“Oh _shit_ ,” the agent mumbled, realization lining his stunned tone. The flashlight was lowered and you saw his square jaw, tight, and he stared at you with familiar eyes. His dark black hair was cropped short, the same way it had been out of school. He shook his head in disbelief, raising his left hand and calling off the attack. Your shoulders slumped as Daichi Sawamura crossed his arms in front of you, scowling. He never changed.

“So, Hoshie. Want to tell me what the _fuck_ a ghost is doing in front of me in a gang’s headquarters?”

Sheepishly, you shrugged.

“Just, uh… chilling. You?”

\---

“What the fuck is this?” Kuroo hissed in your ear. He thrashed against the restraints like a lion would in a cage, and you winced at the sound of metal jangling. You merely reached up to scratch your chin, lowering your head awkwardly to do so, struggling with your own handcuffs. You could see him glaring at you in the one-way mirror spanning the wall and pretended not to notice.

The rest of Nekoma had been apprehended and carted off into other interrogation rooms or holding cells. They’d surrendered their guns at the house, and you were still relieved that they bothered to listen to you after you’d pretty much gotten every single one of them locked up. Better that than a shoot-out, you’d rationalized, but they were still a group of people dealing in organized crime. You could very well have ruined them for the rest of their lives.

You had somehow managed to convince Daichi to pair you in a holding room with Nekoma’s leader, Kuroo. Neither man seemed very happy about it. Kuroo had done nothing but bitch for the past two hours. Daichi was prone to letting unsubs sit and squirm for tens of hours at a time, so you didn’t think you’d be freed from Kuroo’s annoyance any time soon.

“[Name]—Hoshie—whatever. You had really better tell me what the hell is going on, or—”

“Or _what_?” you snapped back, exhausted. You jiggled your own wrists to remind him that you were sitting pretty in the same sinking boat, and that you were more of the Jack than the Rose in this situation. “Are you going to just _bust_ yourself out with sheer willpower and kill me yourself? Forget it, Kuroo. I don’t know what’s happening either.”

“You know the cop,” he muttered spitefully. “So why are you here, too?”

“I mean, Daichi doesn’t exactly like me right now. Okay, Kuroo? We’re stuck together. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” He spoke after a long silence, surprising you with the gentle acceptance in his voice. You glanced to the mirror, seeing him staring directly at the table. Finally, he leant back into his chair, his black eyes meeting yours softly. “At least you’re safe.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your annoyance deflating. You mustered the guts to hold his gaze, his sweltering black irises like coals. “I’m glad you’re safe, too. But…” You looked away again, gnawing on your lower lip guiltily. “I really am sorry that I got you guys busted.”

“Oh, that? Don’t worry. We’ll get out of it. We’ve got our ways.”

“You sure you want to say that out loud?” you hissed, jerking your head to the mirror. He smirked.

“You underestimate us, girl. Us cats got nine lives.”

The door finally swung open. A disgruntled Daichi stormed in, hands tucked deep into his suit pockets as he gave you and Kuroo a once-over. With a sigh, he sat down, dragging the metal chair so that it scraped across the floor.

“Hoshie,” he said curtly.

“Daichi.” You chewed on your tongue. Something rubbed up against your foot and you realized it was Kuroo, who gave you a reassuring nod. With a deep breath, you steeled yourself and leant forwards. “What do you want?”

“Look, things are complicated. Local PD is head over heels with the Nekoma capture.”

“But…?” you pressed, sensing that he had more to say. Daichi scratched his head aggressively, looking ashamed.

“Okay, let me make this clear. I’m not talking to you as Agent Sawamura, but as Daichi.” He lowered his voice and leant closer to you, palms flat on the table, his eyes boring into yours. “We’re considering cutting _him_ —” A cursory nod to Kuroo, who was also trying to awkwardly lean his face into the conversation, “—and his henchmen a deal.”

“A deal?” Kuroo piped up, quickly earning a fiery hot glare that made the dangerous gang leader shrink away from the smaller man.

“Not talking to you,” Daichi snapped. “Talking to _her_.” He sighed and then leant back into his chair. “So yeah, those are the cards. It’s still up in the air, but there’s bigger fish to fry after this bust. Play the hand right and you can reduce the charges on your head, too.”

“What have they got on me?”

Daichi raised his eyebrow menacingly and you nodded before he could open his mouth, feeling a nervous sweat break out on your forehead.

“O-okay, nevermind. I guess I don’t want to know!”

“What’s the deal?” Kuroo asked urgently. Daichi pretended he didn’t hear and kept his eyes on you instead.

“Hoshie, the deal is this: take down Nohebi. After they all—and I mean every single last fucking asshole—goes into custody, you and your freak parade can walk with a couple years of ComSer. Now I dunno if you deserve it, but I’ll admit that Nekoma doesn’t push drugs or kill… so it’s really the best that you’re going to get.”

“Sure!” Kuroo exclaimed sarcastically, throwing his exasperated hands up as much as he could in cuffs. “Just like, take down a major crime syndicate. Not like I’ve been trying to do that for years.”

“Hey, Hoshie. You sound like you’ve got a cold. Maybe you ought to get it checked out. It’s almost like it’s turned you flat stupid!”

You sighed softly as Kuroo and Daichi gave each other their best piercing glares, and jingled your handcuffs.

“Can we please stop with the rulers and start talking about the mission plan?”

“Fine,” Daichi muttered bitterly. Shortly, he added under his breath in the least discreet way possible, “not sure he’s got anything to offer, anyways.”

You sent your prayers that Kuroo would not assault an officer on the premise of having his dick insulted. It would be a long, long day.

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/QFsb9R


End file.
